When I bought my 2019 Chevrolet Spark—a vehicle so small it felt like a really expensive electric bicycle—the last thing I expected was that it would become the key to rediscovering myself. Yet, that tiny car and my 70-pound American Bully named Dracula became my companions on a 4,000-mile journey across some of America’s most challenging landscapes: the relentless heat of Texas, the howling winds of Arizona, and the dusty sprawl of California. Accompanying me on this trip was something far more transformative than the scenic views or the podcasts I listened to: the unshakable realization that I was finally learning to live for myself again.

This wasn’t my first road trip, nor was it my first experience with heartbreak. Over the years, I’ve used travel as both an escape and a coping mechanism—from the chaotic moves in my 20s after a girlfriend cheated on me with a man named Dino (a betrayal I attempted to heal by attending a rave at the Orange County Fairgrounds, where I made questionable decisions involving discarded water bottles and questionable substances), to the cross-country U-Haul trips in my early 30s with a girlfriend, her famous actress best friend, and two cats crammed into carriers. Each journey was a step toward something new, though none had prepared me for the quiet reckoning that would follow my divorce.

My marriage, which I once described as “my favorite part about life,” lasted nearly 12 years. The end came on a sunny day when my wife said, “I can’t do this anymore,” after I complained about maintaining the overgrown cacti she had planted but refused to care for—a metaphor, perhaps, for the entire relationship. The immediate aftermath was a whirlwind of activity: I re-landscaped the backyard, bought new plants, and formed closer bonds with neighbors. Yet, beneath the surface, I was stagnant. My car sat unused outside my laundry room, and my life felt like a waiting room—comfortable, but devoid of purpose.

Then, one day, I made a decision: I would drive across the country with my dog. Not because it was logical, but because it was necessary. This wasn’t just a trip; it was a declaration of independence. I would reclaim the parts of myself that had been sidelined in the years of marriage, and I would do it on my own terms.

The Road to Rediscovery: Planning the Trip

Before I hit the road, I did my research. My dog, Dracula, had never traveled beyond a two-hour radius, and I wanted to ensure her comfort. I booked dog-friendly hotels along the route—though I later switched to Airbnbs after realizing she needed more space to settle in. (I apologize to the housekeeper in El Paso and the young man in Arizona; she didn’t mean to scare you.)

I also prepared for the physical challenges. Perimenopause had brought unexpected changes, and I packed accordingly. The trip would test my resilience, but I was determined to prove to myself that I could handle whatever came my way.

As I loaded my luggage, snacks, and Dracula into the car, I felt a mix of excitement, and nerves. Would this trip truly change me, or would I return to the same stagnation? The answer, I would soon learn, lay in the miles ahead.

Driving Through the Desert of Self-Doubt

The first leg of the journey took me through Texas, where the heat was relentless and the wind howled across the plains. I listened to podcasts—The Handsome Podcast with Caleb Hearon and Roz Hernandez—and audiobooks, including Ione Skye’s works, to pass the time. But the real companion on this trip was Dracula, who spent most of the drive napping in the backseat or hanging her head out the window, jowls flapping in the breeze.

At rest stops, I’d buy coffee and let her observe the world from the car. She wasn’t just a passenger; she was a participant in this journey of rediscovery. Each new town, each new landscape, became a mirror reflecting back the parts of me I had forgotten.

One evening, after a terrifying hailstorm in Texas, I looked up to see a rainbow stretching across the mountain range. It was a sign—one I needed. The storm had passed, and so, too, would my doubts.

California and the Lessons of Letting Go

By the time I reached California, I had already begun to change. The friend I was visiting—a high school acquaintance who had invited me to heal alongside him after the loss of his best friend—became a sounding board for my thoughts. Over long talks, I confronted the question: Why had I stayed in the marriage so long?

The answer was simple, if painful: I loved her. But love, as many have said before, isn’t always enough. Sometimes, it’s not enough to sustain a relationship when two people are moving in different directions. And sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go.

During my time in California, Dracula experienced her first hotel stay, her first elevator ride, and her first sight of mountains. She was fearless, adaptable, and reminded me of the qualities I had lost sight of in myself. Her ability to embrace the unknown became a lesson in resilience.

The Return Home: A New Chapter Begins

When I returned home after two weeks on the road, my house felt different. It wasn’t just the physical changes—I had re-landscaped the backyard, planted trees, and created a space that reflected my renewed sense of self. It was the mental shift. I had rediscovered the joy of travel, the thrill of adventure, and the freedom of being my own companion.

Today, when I think of my marriage, I don’t dwell on the pain. Instead, I remember the lessons learned and the journey that followed. The rainbow over Texas, the dog’s jowls flapping in the Arizona wind, the palm trees swaying in California—these are the images that define my new chapter.

And it’s enough.

Why Women Need More Solo Road Trip Stories

Solo travel, particularly for women, is often romanticized but rarely explored in depth. Yet, as this journey proved, it can be a catalyst for profound personal growth. According to a 2021 World Economic Forum report, women who travel alone report higher levels of confidence, independence, and career advancement. Yet, Hollywood and media often depict women’s journeys as linear—from heartbreak to romance—rather than the messy, transformative process of rediscovery.

My trip wasn’t about finding someone new; it was about finding myself. And in that, I discovered something even more valuable: the freedom to live without apology.

Practical Tips for Your Own Healing Journey

• Start small. If a cross-country trip feels overwhelming, begin with a weekend getaway. The key is to step outside your comfort zone.
• Bring a companion. Whether it’s a pet, a friend, or a trusted playlist, having someone—or something—along for the ride can make the experience more enjoyable.
• Plan for rest. Solo travel can be exhausting. Schedule downtime to recharge and reflect.
• Embrace the unknown. Some of the most meaningful moments on my trip were unplanned—like the rainbow after the storm or Dracula’s first elevator ride.
• Document your journey. Keeping a journal or taking photos can help you process your experiences and create lasting memories.

Final Thoughts: The Road Ahead

Divorce is often described as the end of a chapter, but it can also be the beginning of a new story. For me, that story began with a tiny car, a loyal dog, and a willingness to embrace the unknown. The journey wasn’t simple, but it was necessary. And as I look back on the miles traveled, I realize that the greatest adventure wasn’t the destination—it was the rediscovery of myself along the way.

If you’re considering a solo journey of your own, remember: you don’t need a grand plan or a perfect destination. You just need the courage to start driving.